Crimson Death (76 page)

“You seem not yourself, girl,” Keegan said.

“I feel very much myself today,” she said, moving past Hamish so that she was closer to their mistress and me than anyone else.

“Perhaps I should remind you that being too much yourself does not meet with my approval.”

Rodina gave a small bow. “I am, as always, at your disposal, M'Lady.”

“You know I prefer that you curtsy, even when you are dressed like a man.”

Rodina dropped into a low, perfect curtsy, even mimicking holding a long skirt out to the sides. “As you wish, M'Lady, so shall it be.”

The would-be queen did not offer the other woman a hand up, and by rules of etiquette Rodina was stuck in that very uncomfortable low curtsy until her mistress told her to get up or offered her a hand up. The vampire that didn't look very much like a vampire at all turned back to me.

“Do you know why they all refer to me as M'Lady?”

“An endearing nickname?” I said, trying to sound casual, because I was pretty sure we were getting closer to the painful part of things.

She smiled, looking down demurely, though it looked like a practiced gesture and not a real one. Something you do because it's expected, but you don't mean it. “Because to say my name aloud is considered bad luck. To come to my attention at all is considered ill fated.”

I licked my lips and fought to keep my pulse even. “I heard that,” I said.

“Allow me to demonstrate.” She offered her hand to Rodina, who raised a slightly startled face, but she had no choice but to take what was offered. M'Lady helped the other woman stand but kept their hands entwined.

“M'Lady, what have I done to offend thee?”

“I do not like your attitude today, and your brother's loyalty is in question. Do I need to question yours, as well?”

“No, M'Lady, you do not.”

“We shall see,” the vampire said, and one minute Rodina was standing tall and sure of herself, except for a slight uncertainty in her black eyes, and then her knees buckled. My skin ran with goose bumps just being close to whatever was happening.

“Please, mistress,” Rodina said through gritted teeth.

“I like my servants humble, Rodina, and you and your brothers never quite get there.”

The kneeling woman's face was so pale that her freckles stood out like ink against her skin. She looked as if she might faint. “Please.” She hissed it, as if words were about to fail her.

“Say my name, girl.”

“M'Lady,” she said, sweat breaking out on her face as if she had a sudden fever.

“No, my real name.”

“Moroven.”

“No, my
real
name.”

“Nemhain,” the kneeling girl said in a voice that was strained as if she were in pain.

“Scream my name, girl.”

“Do not . . . make me . . . do this, please!” Her words were pulled from between her teeth as if she were afraid to open her mouth too wide, for fear she'd throw up. I could feel the power rolling off Nemhain, but I still didn't know what she was doing to the woman on the floor.

“I will pull every horrible moment in your long life from your mind and make you relive the terror of it. All you have to do to stop me is to do what I ask. Is that so harsh a burden, Rodina?”

The girl shook her head, lips tightly closed. She was swaying on her knees now. She kept shaking her head as tears started to roll down her cheeks. “Nemhain! Neeemhaaainn!” She screamed the name until it echoed against the stone walls.

The vampire let go of her hand and Rodina fell to the floor, one shaking arm catching her just before she would have lain on her side. She looked like what she really wanted was to curl up in a fetal position and weep, or throw up, or all three, but she fought to stay upright. She fought not to faint; she fought to save as much of herself as she could from what had just happened.

Nemhain turned to me with a smile, most unpleasant. “Now, it's your turn, Anita. I suggest you call out my name much sooner than she did; after all, you are merely human and do not have the reserves of strength that a shapeshifter does.”

I tried not to tense up, but I couldn't help it. I breathed out fast and tried to relax into it. It helped with a beating sometimes, and this was just another type of beating.

She reached out that pale hand, and I couldn't help but jerk back from it. She laughed, high and wild, the kind of laugh that only comes
out of supervillains and the truly insane. “Keegan would enjoy holding you for me, Anita, or you can take your medicine like a big girl like Rodina did.”

Keegan came up behind her, and there was something in his brown eyes that made me not want him to touch me, ever. Rodina's voice came shaking and weak sounding, but she still said it. “Just take it. Don't make it worse.”

Strangely, in that moment I trusted the crazy bitch on the floor more than the one standing in front of me. I looked into Nemhain's pale blue eyes and said, “Just do it.”

“So brave. I will break you of that before I am done.”

“Talk is cheap, girlfriend. Do it, or don't.”

She frowned at me as if it wasn't the reaction she wanted, but she laid her hand against my face and called her power. We were both done being nice.

M
Y SKIN RAN
in shivering goose bumps with all the power she pushed into me, but it was like standing in the middle of a river that flowed past the rock of me. I could feel the water, knew I was getting wet, but I was still above water, still safe and unmoved by the torrent.

I looked into her blue eyes from inches away, with her hand cupping the side of my face, and all that energy flowing around, but not into me. Just like in the dream, she couldn't get past my shields.

“No.” She whispered it.

I looked at her and said, “Do you still want me to say your name?”

“This is not possible,” Keegan said behind her.

“I cannot see into your mind. I cannot draw your fears to the surface of it. The chains you wear are like the blade that slew your tiger. They are enchanted to separate you from all your other parts.
Jean-Claude cannot help you while you wear them. You are a vessel for power, nothing more. I should be able to do with you as I like once you are shorn of all the other powers that aid you.”

“Surprise,” I said softly.

She poured more energy down her hand and put a second hand on the other side of my face so it looked like she was moving closer for a kiss.
“No!”
She shouted it, so angry, centuries' worth of rage. I could smell it like something sweet and bitter rising off her skin. She was right on one thing: She had cut me off from all the other people I was connected to metaphysically. It was supposed to make me weaker, but in that moment, I realized I was like a loaded gun, and whatever she had done to me had taken off my safety. For the first time, I had the ability to feed on anger, thousands of years of untapped rage, and had no one in my head or heart with more practice at controlling their hungers.

I didn't think it was a bad idea, or a good idea. I just fed on her. I fed on her hands as they cupped my face. I fed on the look in her pale eyes as they widened in surprise. I fed skin to skin, draining her down as she held me. So—much—anger. I felt my eyes fill up with my own power. I watched her face grow peaceful as she fell into my gaze, and still I drank her rage. I'd never tried to drain anyone like this, but then I'd never had anyone who'd offered such a feast of time and ire.

Hands dragged her away from me, but she reached out to me, wanted to keep touching me, like any vampire victim once you mind-fuck them deep enough. Keegan and Hamish held her between them. Her eyes were still unfocused like a sleepwalker's.

“Her eyes,” Hamish said, and it took me a second to understand it wasn't Moroven's eyes he was referring to, but mine.

Keegan looked up at me and then at the floor. He wouldn't look me in the eyes while they were glowing. I felt like every inch of my skin should have been glowing with power, not just my eyes. Oh, my God, it felt so good.

The Wicked Bitch, who turned out not to be so wicked after all, took a deep shuddering breath and looked up at me. I'd thought I'd drunk deep of her rage until I looked into her eyes again. Hatred, such burning hatred—it filled her eyes, her face, as if she were formed of it. Something in that one look did what all her power hadn't done before:
it scared me. I don't know why, but I couldn't keep my pulse even, couldn't stop that spurt of adrenaline. It's always funny what will scare you and what won't. You never know, not even about yourself.

“That's better,” she said in a voice that was icily calm and controlled and didn't match the hatred in her eyes at all.

“Mistress, are you well?” Hamish asked.

“Answer him for us, Keegan,” she said.

“The woman is afraid now. We are very well, indeed,” the man said, smiling a most unpleasant smile.

“Why would she be afraid now?” Rodina asked, her voice still holding an edge of the fear that Moroven had caused her.

“She sees me now. Don't you, Anita?”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, my mouth suddenly dry. I couldn't have explained it, but I'd never had anyone look at me with such hatred. I don't know why, but it did frighten me. Damn it.

“I could feed upon your fear now, as you fed upon my anger, but I think I will let your fear grow first. You have so little inside you that it is not a feast for me.” She walked closer to me and peered into my face. “Not yet anyway, but it will be, Anita. I promise you that before I kill you and take the power that is rightfully mine, I will create inside you a fear to equal my hatred.”

I had to swallow again to say, “I'm not sure there's enough fear to equal your hatred, Moroven.”

She smiled and it was a prettier one than Keegan's, but they were still the same smile. It was most unpleasant and promised worse. “See, Anita, I knew you would say my name. In a few hours, you will scream both my names.”

I shook my head. “I don't think so.” But my heart seemed to be in my throat. Why did the hatred make me more afraid than the anger? Then I realized I had my own anger, but I wasn't sure that I hated anything as much as Moroven hated the world.

“We will leave you to contemplate your fate, Anita, but not alone. No, my Harlequin brought a very special guest to keep you company.”

My pulse had been calming down, but now it skyrocketed. Who did she have? Who else had she kidnapped? I tried to think who else
had been in the hotel. Nathaniel and Damian had been with the police; they were safe. Who else did that leave? Donnie and Griffin had been in the lobby, but . . . I prayed hard for so many people not to come down those stairs, but Edward wasn't on the list. . . . Somehow the thought of it being Edward didn't seem possible, as if he weren't touchable. I knew that wasn't true, but I was less worried about him than about almost anyone else I loved in Ireland.

She watched my face as she said, “Bring in our other guest.”

As if they'd been waiting on the stairs for her order, two men walked into view carrying a third between them. My heart fell all the way to my feet, my knees went weak, and I had to make my hands into fists to keep myself upright and not show more emotion than I already had. It was Nathaniel. I didn't know how they'd gotten him away from the police and all the people who were supposed to keep him safe, but there he was, the absolute last person I wanted to see dragged in here with me. God help me. God help us.

He was shirtless, with his arms fastened behind his back. I couldn't see any injuries on him, which was a relief. The long braid of his hair was piled on top of his body, as if they'd tripped on it at some point and just gotten it out of the way. They'd tied a piece of gray cloth across his mouth for a gag. I stared into his wide lavender eyes and felt unmanned. To keep him safe, I would do anything; we were both so fucked.

He was in manacles, too, but he had them on his wrists and his ankles, with more chain wrapping around his upper body and his legs. They'd carried him down, because he could barely bend his body in the chains, let alone walk.

“I knew there had to be more fear in you somewhere, Anita, and there it is, and all for this man. Your leopard to call. Your fiancé, so I'm told, though you seem to have promised yourself to more men than you can actually wed. How does Mr. Graison feel about your wedding plans with Jean-Claude?”

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't seem to think of anything useful. I tried to think of anything that wouldn't make this worse or give her the emotions she was wanting to feed on, but nothing constructive
came to mind. For once in my life, I was frozen and didn't know what to do. I mentally screamed at myself to get my shit together, to think, but all I could do was look into his eyes and be afraid for him. Fuck, I had to do better than this!

“Speechless with fear already, Anita? Do I need to do something to help loosen your tongue?”

That I had an answer for. “No, no.” Even the extra no was nerves, and she knew it. Damn it!

She went to Nathaniel and stroked the heavy braid, gathering it up in her hands and letting it fall to the floor. He looked at me, ignoring her as if she wasn't there. I stared into those lavender eyes, that face, and tried to sense him. He wasn't just one of my
moitié bêtes
; he was the other third of my own private triumvirate but I couldn't feel him at all, as if he were less present than the other people in the room. Whatever magic was on the chains made Nathaniel almost blank. I couldn't sense his energy at all, but I could sense hers, and Keegan's, and Hamish's, and Rodina's, but not Nathaniel's. The metal didn't keep me from being psychic; it just kept me from being psychic with the people I was metaphysically joined with. That was interesting, maybe even useful. I couldn't think how to use that knowledge yet, but it was something, and I'd take it, because something was better than what I'd had a second ago.

“Such beautiful hair,” she said. She stroked down his chest, touching the bare skin between the chains. Nathaniel got touched more than that when he danced onstage at Guilty Pleasures. We were okay. We were okay. I kept repeating that in my head like a mantra. “He's in such good shape, Anita, so much exercise to put all that muscle on his chest and arms. All your men seem to be quite fierce about their gym routines, but then so are you, aren't you?”

“Yes,” I said, because she didn't seem to like silence. “Yeah, we work out.”

“The tiger that we left wounded in the hotel killed two of my Roanes before he came to help you. My seal folk are not the Harlequin, but they are well trained. The fact that he slew two of them so quickly is testament to the training of your guard.”

“Ethan killed two of your men. I wondered what kept him out of the fight in the other room so long.”

She motioned at the two men holding Nathaniel, as if close to two hundred pounds of muscle wasn't heavy at all. “They wish that my Harlequin had brought your wounded warrior here so they could revenge their brethren on him.”

I looked at the men more closely. One had black hair with dark brown eyes; the other had paler brown hair with gray eyes. They were handsome in that traditional guy way, but with Nathaniel in the room, they just didn't look that good to me. I was biased, but they were broad through the shoulders and looked like there was the promise of muscle under their clothes. They didn't have the black-on-black eyes that Roarke and Riley had had. I'd started thinking I could spot all the Roane, or Selkies, from their eyes, but apparently not. Good to know.

She came to stand in front of me again. “Do you want to know how we came to have your Mr. Graison in our power?”

“Sure,” I said, and my voice was almost as uninterested as I was trying for, and I'd almost gotten my pulse under control. The plan hadn't changed: be nice, be polite, don't trip her crazy, and make her think she is the most beautiful thing in the room. The only thing that had changed was that the stakes had been raised for the moment when I stopped being nice again. I kept my thoughts from going any farther down that track. One moment at a time, just this moment, deal with this moment. The next moment can go fuck itself until we get to it.

“You recover yourself very quickly, Anita. It makes you very interesting to me.”

“Maybe we can go shopping sometime and have girl talk,” I said, and even managed a smile.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, if you wanted to go out shopping, gossiping, and girl bonding, I'd be totally down with that.”

She frowned at me. “I do not understand you.”

“Just offering to be friendly,” I said.

“You cannot be friends with your food, Anita. You have already fed upon me, and I will return the favor soon.”

“I'm engaged to be married to a vampire. I can be very friendly to people who feed off of me.”

“I, too, feed upon my servants,” she said, and motioned at Keegan,
“but would never allow them to feed upon me, even were they capable of it.” It was really good to know that he was her human servant. I'd thought probably, but it was nice to have it confirmed. If I got a chance to try to kill anyone, other than her, he'd go to the top of the list, because now I knew that killing him might kill her, too. Yippee.

“Most servants of vampires can't feed on their masters,” I said.

“Not just most, Anita, all, or all save for Jean-Claude and his new bloodline. There seems much confusion in his newfound power on who is master and who is slave.”

“We understand who wears the pants in the family,” I said. I could be calm as long as I didn't look at Nathaniel, but just focused on the white bitch in front of me. I was doing my best to sort of pretend he wasn't here. It helped me think better.

“You may find that the pants have changed owners,” she said, then called out, “Roarke, bring our other guest.”

And just like that my heart was racing, and I looked at Nathaniel. His eyes widened as if to tell me something with a look, but for once I couldn't read his expression. Without our ties open between us, I was head blind and just had to watch as Roarke, King of the Roane, walked down the steps. His dark eyes stared at me as if he'd never begged me to kill him or been anything but tall, imposing, and hers. He came into the room radiating energy much more than he had at the church. He was leading another man by the hand. It took me a second to realize it was Damian. My fear spiked again until I realized Damian wasn't chained or restrained in any way that I could see. He just walked down the stairs with Roarke like they were buddies. What the fuck was going on?